


Grotesque Care

by Mutant_Toad



Category: Hellboy (Comics)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Russian, Special Sciences Service (Russian BPRD), Zombie, kiss, prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:45:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1729928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mutant_Toad/pseuds/Mutant_Toad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iosif knows how Johann Kraus of the American team feels. To be a man, but not really a man. To want for a life he once had. He seeks to fill the void left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grotesque Care

**Author's Note:**

> I like the Iosif character. He's interesting and, honestly, fits into the type of characters I tend to lean towards. 
> 
> I might expand this story more once I get further caught up on the Hell On Earth arc (currently on Return of the Masters).

“Director Nichayko?” she knocked on the door lightly, but received no response, “I have lunch,” she spoke into the door, “Director?”

The service girl set the tray of food down on the floor and fished a set of keys out of her pocket. She flipped through them for a moment before finding the right one. She smiled softly as she unlocked the door and pushed it open with her foot before bending down to pick the tray up again. It was a special feeling to know that she was the only one with a key to his room, other than himself.

“Director Nichayko?” she called out into the dark room as she balanced the tray on one hand and fumbled the other on the wall till they touched the switch.

The room was small and crowded. Lots of books and papers overflowing from three desks that lined the walls and onto the floors. All kind of artifacts that she didn’t quite understand, but knew were very important. Her job was not to question, just to serve. As a proper woman of her country, she stuck to that.

Her dark brown eyes darted around, but he was no where to be seen. They stopped on the bed. It wasn’t the first time she wondered what he needed it for. From what she knew, the Americans had someone similar to their Director. Did he have a bed too? 

“Good afternoon, Former Director Varvara,” she smiled as she turned from the bed and moved to set the food on one of the desks next to a glass jar. A growl came from inside it, “Tut-tut. No way for girl to act, Varvara. Perhaps if you were better woman, would not there now,” she scolded.

“He will get you too one day, Girlie,” hissed from the jar. Inside was a girl that appeared to be no bigger than a foot tall. She was crouched in the jar. Her beautiful, blond curls pressed to the back of the glass. Her blue and white Sunday best dress was wrinkled. She looked like a perfect doll. 

“Never. Director cares for me,” it’s what she believed with all her heart. She’d been there the first day he was brought back. It had been her duty to care for him then and now. There was no one he trusted more, that she believed, “I would die for him. You were tyrant, he is god.”

“Girls with your fetish would to well where I am from,” the little girl hissed.

She just smiled, “I know. He tell me so.”

“I could do so much for you. Just lift the jar.”

The woman laughed as she set out the food, “I would never leave him.”

“Disgusting.”

She shrugged and walked over to the bed. She sat down on the edge of it, smiling to herself. 

Director Iosif Nichayko. Though several of the workers called him a Zombie, she saw him as a man who had a second chance at life. He’d been given a duty in the forties and died for it. When the Americans gave him over to them, it was a matter of research. She’d been assigned to clean up after the creature brought back.

Varvara identified him as a Russian man who had been assigned the task of protecting a special item back then. Even Varvara seemed amazed that he was still ‘alive’. Even more so when tests revealed that he wasn’t even technically a zombie. At least not by standard definition.

It had been her job to clean up the molting, rotting skin that fell off his body. Her job to keep the smell down as much as possible. Her job to try to feed him and see what it was he needed to survive. She was his caretaker then and now.

Over time, they became more and more aware that he wasn’t some mindless creature. He became smarter and smarter with every passing day. When told of how the American ghost-man lived in a suit that kept his body together. They managed to make one for Iosif. That would have meant that her job was done. He could, basically, take care of himself; but he requested to keep her on. He said he respected her and cared for her, due to all she had done for him. Most of all, he loved that she talked to him like he was still a human. He enlisted her to continue to care for him, not that he needed much care anymore.

It was unsettling for most to be around him, but not her. She found him fascinating. She decided one day that she would die for him. Varvara, before being put into her current prison, had sent her to see a head doctor after several reports of how close she was to the zombified Iosif. Whatever his recommendations were never saw anyone’s desk though. Iosif soon became director and those files were destroyed.

Her eyes slid shut as she thought about their first meeting. How horrified she’d been. The only thing to pull her back from her memories was the sound of her own name, “Polina,” her eyes opened to see Director Iosif standing in the door, “Ah, lunch. I am sorry. I forgot the time. Forgive me.”

Even with the metal and fabric suit keeping his body together, it was grotesque. The glass head container gave a good idea of what the rest of his body might have looked like. Bluish skin that was being held to his skull by stitches and staples. One glass eye just to hold the socket open and in place. The other eye was dark, heavy, and dead; but very much functioning. Folds of skin kept his head in place in the glass. It was highly unpleasant, but at least the suit kept the smell in.

“No need for forgiving, Director. I be back for tray later,” she climbed to her feet and nodded to him lightly. He wouldn’t eat. They found out long ago that he didn’t need food to survive. He still liked the sight of it though and she had a feeling that he was feeding Varvara with it. Sometimes he would tell her to leave the food there for a few days. Perhaps the longer it rotted, the more he could smell it through the suit or something.

She started past him, but a metal hand reached out and clasped around her forearm, “Polina,” his file said that he had been married. She shared the same name as his wife. Perhaps that was part of the attraction. Maybe she shared other traits with the woman he had lost and he sought to replace what he had lost with her. If that was the case, she would accept that as her role.

“Yes, Director?” he slipped his other suited hand behind her head and pulled her closer. She knew what to do. What he wanted. She leaned up on her toes and kissed the front of the glass softly. He released her once he was satisfied with the one sided kiss, “Later for the tray,” she repeated from before.

“I will tear both your hearts out one day,” Varvara hissed from her jar as Polina exited the room.


End file.
